Chapter 21

Mason

Smoke curled around us as I passed the joint to Kenna. I watched her pink lips wrap around it, her cheeks hollowing as she inhaled. The smoke filled her lungs, and before I knew it, she was coughing uncontrollably. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. She handed the joint back to me, gasping for air and wiping tears from her eyes.

"I'm," she coughed again, "okay." Her face was pink, and her wide grin was the only thing that comforted me.

"No more for you," I told her as I took another drag, the cherry glowing.

The gentle hum of the dishwasher was our only background noise.

"One more," she pleaded with me. "I can handle it."

The light danced off her perfectly manicured nails as she extended her middle and pointer fingers, creating a cradle for the joint to rest in.

She was a grown woman. Ultimately, the decision belonged to her.

"If you insist," I told her as I handed it to her.

She gingerly brought the joint back to her lips and took a slight drag, learning her lesson from her first hit.

"See," she said as she exhaled, "no biggie." A cough erupted from her chest, and she let out a tiny giggle.

I extinguished the roach in the antique ashtray on my coffee table. The ashtray caught my eye at a flea market years earlier. It had been sitting on my coffee table, untouched and purely decorative, until one day, I finally said fuck it.

Who needs decor when you have functionality? That little ashtray reminded me not to wait for a special occasion to enjoy something.

Life is the special occasion.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked.

"We chill," I told her.

She looked over at me with glassy, bloodshot eyes. "I'm sleepy," she whispered.

"It can have that effect," I whispered back.

She blinked a few times to refocus her vision before sitting up straight and fixing her hair.

"If I get too comfy, I'll pass out," she laughed.

I shrugged. "Whatever feels right. Are you okay?"

As I posed my question, her lips curled upwards into a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"Mm-hmm," she said. "Thank you for asking."

"Okay," I said, "good."

The way Kenna was looking at me was driving me fucking insane. She was unaware of how seductive she appeared with her heavy lids and sweet smile.

"And thanks for making me tacos," she continued. "They're way better than Taco Bell's." She leaned in closer, her lips only inches from my ear. "Don't tell Taco Bell I said that," she whispered.

I turned towards her, our faces closer than ever before.

"I won't," I whispered before leaning back into the couch cushion, distancing myself from the otherworldly woman beside me.

"Tell me about you," she said, her gaze boring into me. "Every single time we've hung out, we've talked about me. I want to know who Mason is. Where are you from?"

"Here," I told her. "Where are you from?"

"Really? I'm from here too," she said before returning the focus to me. "Where do you work?"

"I work for myself," I answered vaguely.

She dug her nails into my arm. "Wait," she whispered, "are you actually a drug dealer?"

"No, Kenna," I sighed, "I'm not a drug dealer. I'm a hitman. And I was hired to seduce you and then dispose of you."

She took a big gulp of air. "What?" The word barely squeaked out of her mouth.

I leaned in closer to her, "I'm just fucking with you."

A half-giggle, half-sigh escaped her plump lips. "Mason," she squealed as she brought a hand up to her heart, "you almost gave me a heart attack."

"My bad," I said.

"Feel it," she yanked my hand up to her chest, positioning my hand over her left breast. "My heart is going crazy."

As I pulled my hand away, my pinky finger grazed against her stiff, pointed nipple, sending a jolt of awareness through my body.

She didn't seem to notice.

"Deep breath," I told her. "You'll be okay."

She closed her eyes and took a few slow, deliberate breaths. "I'm okay," she said. A genuine smile spread across her face, reaching even her bloodshot eyes.

"I'm a personal chef," I finally told her with a shrug.

"So, that explains the ridiculously good tacos," she said. "A personal chef who also enjoys Taco Bell?"

"I'm not above the Bell, Kenna."

She gave me a lopsided grin, a piece of her blonde hair falling into her face. "Very interesting," she whispered. "Tell me more."

I wasn't an open book and wasn't about to tell my life story to someone I had known for a couple of weeks.

But the way Kenna looked at me, fuck.

Those eyes could get me to confess to a murder I didn't commit.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

With a deep exhale, she leaned back against the couch cushions, curling her legs into her chest. I reached for the knit blanket and draped it over her.

"Thank you," she said as she welcomed the warmth. "What's your favorite color?"

The color of your eyes.

"Green," I said instead.

"If you could have any superpower, what would it be?" she asked next.

"Flying," I said without missing a beat. "It sounds so relaxing, but depending on the day, it could also be exhilarating."

"You could easily disguise your power with skateboarding," she laughed. "No one would know you're not riding the board. And you could never really fall!"

"Now you're onto something," I told her. "What superpower would you choose?"

Kenna tapped her chin with her pointer finger. "I definitely don't want to be able to read minds," she said.

"Same," I nodded. "Too slippery of a moral slope."

"Teleportation?" Kenna finally said. "It would be useful since I'm always running late."

"Good one."

She considered her next question for a moment. "If you could meet one person, dead or alive, who would it be?"

"Rodney Mullen," I told her.

"Who's that?"

"He's kind of the godfather of skateboarding," I explained. "He invented the kickflip, among other tricks. He's a legend."

She laughed, "I should have known you'd pick a skateboarder."

"Who would you pick?" I asked her.

She blushed and shook her head. "No! We're talking about you!"

"Are you ashamed to admit who you would pick?" I asked her.

"No," she straightened her posture. "I'm not ashamed. I, just—"

"You just care what people think," I finished her sentence, "which is an exhausting mindset to have." I leaned in closer to her, her sweet scent invading my senses. "I promise I won't judge you, Kenna."

When her emerald irises met mine, it was like I was hit with a fucking lightning bolt. I wanted to know all of Kenna's secrets. I didn't want her to hold back.

"You don't have to say that," she whispered. "Everyone judges everyone."

"No," I said firmly. "No, they don't. Sure, people make observations about others every day. That's human nature. But passing judgment? Not my thing."

"I judge people sometimes," she admitted, "maybe because I'm avoiding judging myself."

When Kenna's shoulders slumped, I could see the weight of her thoughts pulling her down, like vines tangled around her limbs. She let out a heavy sigh, and I knew she was spiraling into self-deprecation.

"Do you believe in aliens?" I asked, effectively changing the subject.

"Duh," she answered. "I don't think it matters if we believe or not. There is alien life out there."

"My thoughts exactly," I said. "And the government definitely knows."

"Obviously!" she squealed. "They've known for, like, ever."

"Please tell me you've seen The X-Files."

"What are ex files?" she asked.

My jaw dropped.

"Okay, we're watching the pilot episode," I told her as I reached for my remote.

"Oh! It's a show!"

"Oh, Kenna. It's not just a show," I explained while I navigated to the appropriate streaming service. "It's hands down the best series to ever air on television."

"Okay," she said hesitantly when the opening credits began to play.

"Just give it a chance," I told her. "I think you'll love Dana Scully."

With a graceful motion, she extended a corner of the soft blanket, inviting me to join her in its warmth. I moved closer, feeling the heat radiating from her body as our thighs brushed against each other ever so slightly.

On my television screen, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully's voices were low and urgent as they politely disagreed. Mulder was convinced that the issue was related to the supernatural, while Scully insisted there was a logical explanation.

Beside me, a beautiful girl was nestled into my side.

It was a perfect evening, one that I never wanted to end.